


Of Friendship (and Dormice)

by Jennistar



Category: Atlantis (TV)
Genre: Cheerful consumption of tiny defenceless mammals, Gen, Humor, Jason has adjustment issues, Very vague slash, warning for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennistar/pseuds/Jennistar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason struggles to adjust and says stupid things...and Pythagoras cooks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Friendship (and Dormice)

**Author's Note:**

> ...I actually wrote a fanfic with the name 'Pythagoras' in it...

The first thing Jason noticed when he walked into the flat was a delicious smell wafting through the air. The second thing he noticed was Pythagoras standing to one side and stirring something in a large pot.

“That smells nice,” he said, and dropped his bag on the table. He was in a good mood.

Pythagoras, who had turned when he heard the door open, flashed Jason a welcoming half-smile and went back to stirring. “I like cooking,” he said. “It helps me to think.”

“About triangles?” Jason teased.

He was shot a completely blank look in response. “Hypotenuse,” Pythagoras said, as if he were crazy.

Jason blinked. “Right,” he said. Pythagoras went back to stirring and Jason stood and watched him for a while. Every so often he forgot that Pythagoras was a little bit mad in the head, and then the man would say something completely bonkers to remind him. And then this would start a whole train of thoughts going through his head, from _I don’t understand why I still hang around these people_ to _oh my fucking god I’m in fucking Ancient Greece HOW?!_

These thoughts had been shuttling through his mind for two months and he was still nowhere near an answer. He shook off the thoughts and leaned over Pythagoras’s shoulder to stare at the cooling mixture in the pot. It was a sort of creamy brown colour.

“What is it?” he asked.

Pythagoras turned his head to smile at him, and they practically bumped noses. The man had no idea of personal space. And really blue eyes. “Dormice,” he said.

It took a while for Jason’s brain to catch up with him, which he blamed on the eyes. “Dor – what?” he spluttered.

Pythagoras frowned his usual frown, which went along the lines of _you’re saying something I don’t understand again and you never explain yourself when you do and it’s REALLY ANNOYING_. “Dormice,” he said, as if talking to a simpleton. “You know. Stewed.”

Jason backed away from the delicious smell. “Stewed,” he said. “As in – stewed _mice?_ Actual _mice?_ ”

Pythagoras let out a nervous laugh. “Well what else did you think I meant?”

“Uh,” Jason ventured, “Do people eat that a lot?” Because it was all too likely that this was another crackpot idea of Pythagoras’s, spawned from too many hours spent indoors with only a ruler and protractor for company.

“Well of course!” scoffed Pythagoras. “It’s a delicacy. Surely you have them where you come from?”

“No,” Jason said firmly. “Our dormice tend to hang around in fields. On bits of...wheat.” Huh. Now it came to it, he couldn’t really remember what 21st century dormice got up to. They certainly didn’t boil in pots though.

“Oh,” Pythagoras said. “Well. Do you want to try a bit?”

“What? _No!_ ” Jason recoiled and Pythagoras looked momentarily so upset that Jason felt instantly guilty. “I’ll just, um,” he said, trying to recover the situation, “I’ll just have some fruit. Yeah.” And he backed towards the table, reaching for the bowl in the middle which, fortunately, was filled with perfectly normal apples.

Jason sat down and focused on the apple. Pythagoras poured some of the stew into his bowl and sat opposite him, starting on it with every sign of enjoyment. Jason forced himself not to stare.

“So,” Pythagoras said, after he had devoured three quarters of the dormice, “You never did tell me where you’re from.”

Jason swallowed a bit of apple around the sudden lump in his throat. “You wouldn’t have heard of it,” he said.

“I’ve got a pretty good grasp of geography,” Pythagoras replied carefully, “For someone who’s never left Atlantis anyway.” He grinned at Jason.

Jason smiled back, but it felt suddenly forced. How could he tell Pythagoras where he was really from? How could he tell _anyone?_ It sounded utterly insane. “I was born in Atlantis,” he offered.

Pythagoras brightened. “Really?”

Jason nodded. “At least I think so. I don’t remember. But it feels...” He trailed off and fell quiet. Pythagoras said nothing, but Jason could see him watching his face intently. He hated lying to anyone, and it was made worse by the fact that Pythagoras was clearly curious but just too polite to ask Jason anything outright. Eventually it would be sure to drive a wedge between them.

He changed the subject to a better one, trying to lift his mood. “Oh, by the way,” he said. “I got a job today.”

Pythagoras’s spoon was travelling to his mouth but it stopped at this news. “A job?”

“Yeah, down at the docks,” Jason said. “It’s just lifting boxes but at least I’ll be able to pay some of the rent now.”

The spoon went back into the bowl. “You didn’t need to do that,” Pythagoras said.

“Of course I did,” Jason argued. “I’ve been crashing on your floor for two months and you’ve shared all your food with me. And anyway you never have any money, you spend it all on pencils and paying Hercules’ bar tab. I want to help.”

Pythagoras’s facial expressions were flickering between gratitude and worry. “But you’re my guest,” he said.

“No, I’m not,” Jason said. “I’m your friend.”

There was a small silence. Pythagoras’s eyes turned suspiciously watery.

“Don’t you dare,” Jason said quickly, and pointed a finger at him. “No. Don’t even think about it.”

“You said you’re my friend,” Pythagoras gushed. If he had been a cartoon character, there would have been hearts in his eyes at this point.

“You must have other friends,” Jason said defensively. “Hercules – he’s your friend!”

“You’re so _nice,_ ” Pythagoras wailed.

Oh god. It was time for damage control.

“Give me some of that stew,” Jason ordered.

Pythagoras glanced down at his bowl, successfully distracted. “What? The – ”

“Dormouse stew, yes, yes, hand it over.” Jason flapped a hand at it. Pythagoras pushed the bowl over to him, nonplussed.

“Right,” Jason said, lifting a spoonful of stew. “Now I’m going to swallow this and say it’s disgusting and you’re going to get offended and we are going to forget I said anything about friends, okay?”

Pythagoras nodded, though a smile was flickering onto his face again. “But _you_ said – ”

“Shut up,” Jason said, and took a mouthful of stew before he could think about it.

There was a hesitant pause, in which Pythagoras stared at Jason and Jason rolled the flavour in his mouth.

“Well?” Pythagoras asked at last.

Jason swallowed. “Not bad,” he said.

Pythagoras’s smile could have outshone the stars.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: It was actually the Ancient Romans who ate dormice and they ate them stuffed as a snack, not stewed. There is no real evidence that the Ancient Greeks ate them. But maybe in Atlantis they did. They've got hunting lions and two-headed dragons, edible dormice is just one small step away...


End file.
